


What He Hates

by Hadrian_Pendragons



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lio Fotia-centric, Referenced Burnish Experiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27016636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hadrian_Pendragons/pseuds/Hadrian_Pendragons
Summary: The rescue mission brings back memories for Lio. None of them are pleasant.
Relationships: Lio Fotia & Gueira & Meis
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	What He Hates

Their steps echoed over the icy, terrifyingly bright walls. The overhead lights cast a sickly glare over the guards leading them on. The air burned his throat with the cold’s hateful chill, aggravating the heat just beneath his skin in a way he was all too familiar with.

Lio Fotia hated this place.

Meis and Gueira bumped his shoulders at almost the exact same time. Lio had never explained  _ that  _ to them—but his two second-in-commands always seemed to know when he was having a hard time. Lio was almost ashamed. He would have been, if he didn’t understand his shame came not from himself, but from what had been done to him.

There was a reason he wore long sleeves and gloves. There was a reason he couldn’t sleep alone. There was a reason suppressing his flames for any length of time brought a tightness to his throat and a tensing of his body. 

Being here where it all began definitely didn’t aid in keeping the disgust and anger at bay.

Their guards stopped before a cell—heavy, freezing doors and barely any light inside, he knew from experience—and input the code on the padlock beside it.

As it opened, a gust of concentrated frost hit his face. As if welcoming him back, after so long.

Lio hated this place.

“Get in,” the guard behind them said. Lio felt the barrel of a freeze gun pressing into his shoulder blades. His height had never bothered him… but now, all he wished was to burn so hot that his flames towered over and consumed the entire prison.

“Move it.”

“Boss,” Meis whispered. 

Lio stepped forward.

Several sets of eyes landed on them as they entered. Emotions flashed across their eyes—pain, fear, terror, despair. He understood them all. 

“You…” A woman pushed herself to her feet, wobbling and thin and pale and barely a human light in her eyes. “... but… no…”

“They caught the Mad Burnish?”

Whispers erupted among the dozen people sharing the single, terribly small room. It was more cramped than he remembered these things being. Then again, his case had been  _ special. _

Why give him the luxury of human contact? Especially with other burnish.

Lio couldn’t bring himself to move until the door had shut behind them with a deafening hiss. Lio hadn’t missed that sound.

The people quietened and watched them carefully. People of all ages, different lives drawn together through fear and fire. Had they been like him? Normal, average, hunted, scarred?

“Hey, Boss,” Meis again. “You wanna sit down?”

Gueira nudged his shoulder once more. “We’re among friends.”

Yes. Friends. Burnish, just like him. They were the only ones he could trust. The only people in this icy world that could possibly understand.

Lio hated this place. He hated the cold, he hated the darkness, he hated the way the air misted in front of his face when he blew a breath to calm himself. It wouldn’t do to lose his composure here. He couldn’t afford that. So many lives depended on him, and he would not be the one to fail them.

He had to stick with the plan. If he did that, they would be out in no time, and he wouldn’t have to think about this place ever again.

_ What a nice dream that was. _

A cough finally broke him free from the cold, stagnant thoughts. Another that drove him forward, past a boy with panicked eyes. One more dropped him to his knees.

He could  _ feel  _ it. The flickering of a dying flame. The painful whimpers of the embers in a slowly beating heart.

The woman was paler than her dark skin should healthily be. The coughs continued, hoarse and weak, barely capable of jarring her body. Her left eye was dull, expression recognizable—he sometimes wore that same shroud of despair when he looked in his mirror after a night of fitful dreams—and her right was bandaged. Her neck was bandaged. Her arms were bandaged, one fixed tight against her in a story of broken bones and pain.

A story of experiments and resistance. A story of failure and punishment.

“What’s her name?” The question left his mouth, hushed and restrained. He could handle this.

“T-Thyma,” the boy replied. It was loud, despite the full room. Had everyone gone quiet? Not that there was much to talk about in a place like this… but the hushed silence was concentrated, directed, and afraid.

“Thyma,” he muttered. “Thyma.” He leaned over her, mouth to her ear. “Thyma. Listen to me. You will not be here long. Be strong. Your flames burn brighter than you think.”

She blinked. Her head tilted toward him. 

“You… you’ll help?”

He could handle this.  _ Restraint.  _ He could handle this.  _ Don’t burn just yet. _

“That’s why we’re here.”

She smiled with broken, barely contained relief. Lio wondered what his expression would have been had someone said that to him, so long ago. Would he have been relieved? In disbelief? Angry that it had taken so long?

“Thank… you…”

She closed her eyes. 

Lio stood abruptly. He turned and met Meis’s eyes. Gueira’s. Both of them held a certain steel and dichotomous worry that he knew was directed toward him. He could only imagine his expression  _ now.  _ The people here weren’t so generous as to offer mirrors.

“Be ready.”

“Of course,” Meis grinned.

“Who do you take us for?” Gueira lifted his cuffed arms in some horrible rendition of his usual hand motions. “We’ll back you up. As always.”

Lio hated it here.

But he wasn’t on his own, this time. He wasn’t hopelessly lying on the icy floor, staring dully at the dim blue lights, his fires exhausted and his wounds numb. He wasn’t screaming, pounding on the cell door, covering his ears as if that would stop the silence.

He wasn’t alone.

He smiled. It wasn’t kind, but it was fueled by protectiveness and rage he would never let go of.

“Let’s burn this hell.”

Ice was not meant to rule the world. And it would  _ never  _ rule Lio Fotia again.


End file.
